


The Lily of the Valley

by BabyDracky



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: F/M, Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-09 05:36:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyDracky/pseuds/BabyDracky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I know, Sir Lancelot," answers Mordred, calmly "but it is our duty to make sure that that girl those villagers told us about is safe too."<br/>"Princess Lynette is in great danger, his father the king, asked for our help" Lancelot answers speeding up his horse "This is our duty"<br/>"Yeah, because she is a princess, she has to have all the finest knights of Camelot coming to rescue her when poor peasant girls can get assaulted in the while" answers Mordred, his lips tightened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lily of the Valley

**Author's Note:**

> English isn't my mother tongue. Sorry.
> 
> Writtenf for a MORDRED challenge @ MAY DAY @ LJ

"Sir Mordred," repeats slowly Lancelot "We don't have time to waste around, we have to find Princess Lynette before dawn. The king’s words were quite clear, weren't they?"

Lancelot isn’t really pleased to travel with him, Mordred is aware of that. And he knows more than anyone else why. Some years ago, Lancelot had to agree for Mordred to be his squire for months because King Arthur asked it. Lancelot never had a quire, never travelled with other knights but had to acknowledge his king’s demand whatever but never had he been a good companion to Mordred. Mordred will never forget it.

Now, once again on Arthur's demand, they have to ride together when both of them would have preferred to travel alone. Mordred still doesn’t understand why the king is always so keen to ask Lancelot to be the knight travelling with him. Some of the other knights are already whispering about favoritism because every soul in the kingdom knows that Sir Lancelot is King Arthur’s more loyal and greatest knight. Mordred definitely knows better. King Arthur had made it quite clear years ago that he wouldn’t acknowledge his “nephew” any favor. Favor or not, it is insulting. Mordred doesn’t need any knight to succeed on a quest as much as he doesn’t need piercing eyes to keep watch over him.

"I know, Sir Lancelot," answers Mordred, calmly "but it is our duty to make sure that that girl those villagers told us about is safe too."

"Princess Lynette is in great danger, his father the king, asked for our help" Lancelot answers speeding up his horse "This is our duty"

"Yeah, because she is a princess, she has to have all the finest knights of Camelot coming to rescue her when poor peasant girls can get assaulted in the while" answers Mordred, his lips tightened.

"Be careful, Mordred, your words are treason to the king" nearly growls the usually so calm Sir Lancelot.

"At least, my actions aren't, Sir Lancelot" answers Mordred, his voice honeyed.

They look at each other.

Nothing else is left to say; Mordred crosses over the other side of the road and gets into the forest. As much as everyone is calling Mordred egocentric and lonesome, he just couldn't let that young girl all alone in those forests with some savage thieves who had abducted her from her own house some days ago. 

Her widowed mother has begged them, the Knights of the Round Table, to help her when they have ridded across her village earlier. She had kissed both their feet thanking whatever deities that had sent them her way. Mordred just couldn't deny her even if he knows, like some of those men in the village, that her only girl may be dead by now.

He rides for hours into the forest looking for the thieves, hoping that the girl would be safe, that he will be able to reunite the already amputated family.

When he found them, at last, the drunken men are enjoying their meal, certainly stolen food from the peasants around. They are playing happily with a crying little creature, like a sate cat with a frightened mouse. They are disgusting.

"Release her" Mordred asks strict, tall and magnificent from his high black stallion.

"Or what?" asked one of the drunk and dirty men, brandishing a rusty sword.

"Or you'll have to fight for your pathetic lives!" 

Mordred’s words are as cutting as the sword he draws from its scabbard.

Five men on foot just couldn't take Mordred down from his mount. He doesn’t try to scare them or gives them a good lesson; he is searching for disarmament and vital points. Death will be the outcome if they don't decide to run away for their lives because Mordred doesn’t feel prone to spare them.

Three were killed; the others ran away from the black figure.

When Mordred came to the crying girl, he understands at once why she had been abducted; she doesn’t have to be envious of any princesses or any fairies, she is stunningly beautiful. She has long strawberry blond hair dancing around her oval and sun kissed face, two bright and large eyes, doe eyes and full and pink lips. 

She takes his outstretched hand without fear and rides on his horse, sitting in front of him, her gentle and little hands around his waist holding him close to her. Her blond head is on his shoulder, barely moving and he can smell her perfume, the very scent of her, something sweet and wild at the same time.

When they come back to the village, it is already dark. 

The girl nearly jumps from the horse in her mother’s arms to kiss her, to reassure her even if she is now crying out loud. Mordred is received like a hero, everyone is cheering him, and everyone is thanking him warmly.

Mordred is certainly not noble enough to refuse to be congratulated by the king, but he just can’t allow those people to think so much of him when he hasn’t done anything he shouldn’t have in the first place. They see him as a hero but a hero he wasn't and never will be.

He isn’t a hero, not even a good knight because he has knowingly disobeyed the king’s orders, because he isn’t able to refuse the village hospitality. Any knight would always be welcome anywhere, but any knight wouldn’t crave for that girl and her mother’s reassuring company. They are so easily laughing, kissing each other, singing songs for him while cooking. Mordred knows deep down that this is exactly what he was craving for, a family. 

A mother and a daughter.

Like father, like son has never been as lying and as depressing than in this moment.

He wasn't more heroic when they go to sleep and when he doesn’t refuse the girl a place next to him in his fortunate bed, not when he let her lips found his, sweet gratitude against bitter eagerness, not when his possessive but gentle hands are all over her soft skin, making her all his, not when he is trusting into her warm body, not when he is drowning into her.

In the morning, he finds her in front of the house a gentle smile on her pink and soft lips. 

"You're going back to Camelot so early, my Lord?" she gently asks him and in the morning light he can see how young she actually is.

So young and though already so manhandle by destiny.

"No, I am on a quest" he answers not taking his eyes of her.

She blushes. 

She doesn’t say she understands. She doesn’t say a word because she knows that “us” will never be; that “together” isn’t their destiny. Mordred would gladly stay here, with his beautiful girl, having her beautiful face sleeping on his arm every morning to come, having those tempting curves keeping him warm every night, having those lovingly lips smiling at him until his last breath. But it isn’t meant to happen. Not now, not ever.

It’ll always be a memory of what could have been that will torture him, a dream of what have been only once to keep and cherish and hold on. 

"Here you are, my Lord" she says, giving him a flower, shy.

"For me?" Mordred raises an eyebrow.

He isn't used to women offering him flower. He should actually be the one wooing women by offering beautiful flowers and sugary lies.

"It is a Lily of the Valley" she smiles at him again, that unique smile that would be able to warm his cold life "There are thirteen bells. It is said to bring great destiny"

Mordred is looking at that blade of lily, so beautiful and white bells in a so generous hand. This is a simple present from a pure person, an inestimable gift.

"Why are you giving it to me?" asks Mordred not sure he really deserve anything more from his lovely girl, not when he already has stolen so much.

"Because you deserve it, you're a generous man, my Lord" she answers honestly, her nut brown eyes bewitching him.

"I don't think I am" admits Mordred.

"I know you are" is the girl’s answer when she takes his hand to give him the May flower.

Mordred takes the lily in his gloved hand caressing the leaves as he had the soft girl’s body a few hours ago.

"Thank you, Milady" he whispers afraid to speak louder.

She blushes again not used to be called a lady. She already means to him so much more than any lady, any princess will.

Mordred moves away leaving behind him that little blade of happiness he has been able to find, a simple woman who could have make him feel happy and safe.

"Let those little bells bring him happiness" whispers the girl looking her savior, her knight fading away "Let them make his eyes shine from Joyce ever again"

The girl, once to be known as the Lily Girl, will always remember her kind savior, a fearless knight in black ink armor with infinite gentle but so sad eyes.


End file.
